


Price of Freedom

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, At the beginning anyways, Branding, C137cest, Dark, Dom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Dubious Consent, I'm Going to Hell, Incest, Look just read the story, M/M, Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Slavery, Sort Of, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, all that good stuff, kind of, poor Morty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The rogue was said to break the Mortiest Morty, but this Morty is too stubborn to believe the rumours, nor fall victim to the torture itself. Either he'll slowly become a slave to the most intense and controlling Rick, or they'll learn to compromise on what matters most.





	Price of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so yeah. I made this. Heed the warnings, some dark shit ahead. Tell me if you want more, or if I should maybe just burn this in a pit of shame. Thanks to everyone who comments, bookmarks or leaves kudos. You let me know if this shit is good, and it makes my day tbh :p
> 
> Sidenote: I started this off when the second episode of season 3 came out, soo I basically predicted the citadel shenanigans, only saying :D
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and reviewwwwwww

\---  
In an alternate universe, Morty of C147 has evaded capture from the Council of Ricks for more than a 5 months. The Council had passed a law that allowed for the enslavement of 'stray Mortys' - and any Morty without a definitive Rick falls victim to the mysterious increase in demand for Morty vouchers. A renouned group of surviving Mortys are led by C127, until finally Morty is captured by the notorious rogue Rick. 

The rogue was said to break the Mortiest Morty, but this Morty is too stubborn to believe the rumours, nor fall victim to the torture itself. Either he'll slowly become a slave to the most intense and controlling Rick, or they'll learn to compromise on what matters most.  
\---

Morty almost let out an uncharacteristic groan at the sight of infamous grey hued spikes, pulling the trigger of his makeshift plasma gun with only a twinge of guilt when a clearly dead Rick fell to the floor, his once working mouth hanging open slackly. Morty had killed so many Ricks now, he'd expected that vulnerability would fade away quickly like a paling sun. Part of him hated that weakness, hated it almost as much as his blatant youth and naturally feeble body, but then again Morty supposed that he passed off as tough enough when he toed the Rick's cooling corpse casually for a portal gun. Not like he could get anywhere without the Council of Ricks following his ass, but he could at least use some of the superior wirings to fix a few forgotten weapons. 

Sighing tiredly -possibly at what a shitfest life had become- Morty went to grab the stupid badge the Rick sported proudly over a bleached uniform. It was made of some sort of expensive reflective gold- but the shine was barely palatable with black clouds gathering over the derelict building Morty inhabited.

With a hand running through his dirt filled hair, Morty picked out the battered walkie talkie that draped around his thin legs, fiddling to a channel he knew so well. As ever, a detestable squeak beat him to his angry rambles.

"147! You took fucking forever on that little patrol of yours. You still dropping Ricks like flies on your end?"

Morty only idly listened at that, feigning boredom as the irrational anger of another Rick coming for him subsided, fiddling absentmindedly with what was left of his gun when he replied sullenly. 

"We both know this 'little patrol' of mine is becoming a fucking death wish. Every Rick within a ten mile radius is out to chomp my ass." Morty said tiredly, feeling as if he'd expression his intentions a thousand times thereof when smashing in a Rick's skull, or swilling some forgotten whisky around his already dry mouth when swearing he'd kill every last one of them. He could hear a sudden intake of a usually raspy pattern of breath, and knew doubtlessly that this Morty was scared. 

Of course he was. Who wasn't? Every single Morty had at least one bad experience with the nicest of their grandpas. It spoke volumes of an evil no one could stop. After all, there were infinite Ricks that would always be around to fuck things up for Morty. If only he could convince all the other Mortys of that. But how? How in every conceivable universe could him, a rebel Morty, save the others?

"I didn't call just for you, 147. I have a favour-"

"Who would've guessed? Oh right, every Morty who has died after a few of your little missions. You already know my answer." Morty answered plainly, but his fists were clenched in effort at not screaming at this sack of shit over the walkie talkie. Maybe it was from the particularly gruesome sight of a Rick's brains dripping on the floor, or just the thought of dying over something as stupid as another sheep in the council, but Morty couldn't help but be pissed. 

"Aw, c'mon, 147. It's an easy job. Besides, this is too big to decline. Technically this one is in that radius looking -er- to 'chomp your ass', was it? No one else is in that Godforsaken zone anyway."

"There's a reason for that, Prick," Morty shot back just as fast, his hackles naturally prickling. "They know I'm the one killing Ricks. If YOU'D been there to help me out then, perhaps I wouldn't be an outcast now. Why would I help your sorry ass out now after all that?"

"Fuck you, dude. I helped all I could. Without me, you wouldn't be around to complain. This Rick, he's.. he's... different."

"Oh? Different? He still has bones to crack and eyes to gouge as far as I'm concerned, so why would he-?"

"It's the Rouge, you asshole."

With that one sentence, time literally stopped. Morty held his breath, hardly believing that in the one dimension, in his one zone, that this one Rick had just happened here. 

"Dawg, you get him, and this entire war is over."

As if Morty didn't know that. The Council had put a bounty unofficially on the Rogue for ages now, and at the very least they'd have to let all the Mortys free. 

"147..." 

It wasn't like they wanted the rebellion here. Ricks dying needlessly was definitely not in their mastermind plan. Of course they'd reward Mortys for killing of the one problem Rick they simply couldn't get rid of-

"Dude...?"

Hell, maybe the Council could ensure each Morty would be in a Rick-free dimension. He could back to his family, not been an outcast, all if he could kill just one more Rick.. feel blood slipping through his fingers like grains of sand just once more. 

"Morty!"

Morty was quick to blink away a joy he'd not felt for a long time. The nasal voice of another him was enough to ground him, and enough for that buzz of breathless happiness to go as quick as it came. Now, all that filled him was that dogged determination that had kept him going for so long. One word was all he could muster in return for the price of freedom. 

"Where?"

\---  
The memory of such unwavering desire almost made his eyes well up in the darkness. Almost. But Morty was nothing if not resilient, and if he'd learned anything about his time at the citadel, it was not to show any signs of weakness. Any. So much as a waver in a facial expression was enough for Rick to pick up on a perpetual fear. And the last thing Morty needed was for Rick to latch onto whatever emotion made him most vulnerable. Open. Weak. Words Morty was becoming well acquainted with through every plead or punch he aimed at Rick. 

"Y-you ready to eat yet, or will- are you gonna just fEURGing sit there like all the others?" 

Morty refused to look up, refused to so much as glance at the lean form that had been looming over him for too much and yet too little time. Some part of him would always feed off of any Rick's superiority; instinctively, like he'd always been trained to do. 

"A-all the others?" Morty croaked, and fuck yes, he could still speak through the dry of his throat- could pretend he was one up on Rick. 

But he may as well have not spoke, Rick's impatient sigh drowning out any feeble attempt of defiance Morty could make. Even in the dark, Morty could identify the razor sharp focus of Rick's eyes trained hotly on his restrained form, and Morty couldn't help but shrink back weakly. All the times Rick had tortured him so intricately, subtly in his harsh comments or sadistic inventions, Morty never felt more exposed than he did now. Something about being bound and broke in front of Rick was intimately horrifying. 

"Could shove a tube down your throat.. y-you do realise that, right?"  
Morty choked at the familiar sour breath suffocating his senses. He should have maybe screamed at the threat, or something as equally childish in Morty's open fear, but instead took quick breaths through his nose, mouth firmly shut to stop any whimpers from coming out. Can't show fear, can't show fear. But Rick went on anyways, perhaps wanting to see Morty's composure break down once more. 

"That would be the nice thing to do, of course. Having a tube thrust down to your stomach- so fuckin' easy." Rick was so casual about it, even when his teeth were bared, and sometimes it was hard to tell if the nip was from the cold or Rick when he felt a sharp pain course through his neck. "Could just make something that'll have your stomach shrivel up, so you never have to eat again. H-Haven't tested that baby yet, who knows what the side effects will be-"

"I'm sorry."  
And he was. He was sorry for ever thinking he could undermine Rick, for figuring the literal God of his universe wouldn't suspect a thing. He was sorry he wasn't smarter most of all, though. 

But if Rick was surprised by his admission, no sound was made. In fact, he almost looked disappointed, unibrow raised higher than Morty had ever seen it.

"What're- C'mon, Morty, you know the drill by now. You think your fuckin' words are going to change a thing? I want you to prove it, baby." 

Morty wanted to die. He wanted to die he wanted to die. The vague emptiness of death was most definitely blissful in comparison to pleasing Rick with... with... 

Before Morty could stifle the incoming panic attack a dry sob wormed its way up his chest, and he didn't even bother to pretend he was anything but the snivelling kid Rick had reduced him to when he curled himself into a ball as far as the bonds would allow. He let out another sob without thought. And another. And another. Soon, Morty Smith of Earth Dimension C147, the assassin of Ricks was crying feebly like the child he had once left behind. 

When he finally gathered a thread of composure, the absence of Rick's scolding was even more frightening than the thought of proving anything. He only peered coyly from behind his wet eyelashes when he heard a ragged breath which was definitively Rick's in its sour, chilling essence. 

And a second after he'd figured it out, Morty was already staring openly at Rick. With fear or awe was too hard to tell. But the expression on Rick's face was definitely easy to read- even for a Morty as pathetic as him. 

Raw, open hunger snaked its way across Rick's feature, a bit of drool already hanging from his bottom lip. Morty couldn't figure out if the drool was due to a sudden influx in Rick's drinking habits, or a thoughtless impulse at the stirrings of fear that the scientist probably detected like a feral dog.

It took Morty a while to even breath after that thought. But when he did manage a gulp of unwanted oxygen, Rick was still staring at him with an unfathomable expression, eyes perusing Morty's naked torso absentmindedly. Almost as if... 

Morty gulped, allowing the air to flow through his thin chest when the fear threatened to suffocate him. 

"Rick, I c-can't-"

"Y'know Morty, I don't think you're getting it through that pea-sized fuckEUIGNing attempt of a brain of yours." Hands were on him, cold and calm across his trembling body. It was now clear that Rick was mapping out a space on Morty's chest he had pinpointed just a few seconds ago, nails barely scraping the surface skin of his grandson. He kept stroking over the place where his breastbone connected to the shoulder in a way that was decidedly not painful, and Morty couldn't help but worry at the calculated gentle. 

"You're me. Got that, you dumb fucking animal? You're a part of me! This isn't about you Morty, never has been. Little 'I c-can't do its-'" Tears welled up unyieldingly at Rick's impersonation of his whiny, nasal stutter. "Or 'nooo Rick, it's too much' are just stupid background noises for me to work through." Rick's grip tightened on the now reddened expanse of his shoulder. 

"And Grandpa intends to work you over, baby,"

Just like that, Rick started moving with that speed Morty had always been in awe of until now, something akin to a knife flashing in his eyes before a blinding pain pierced the area Rick had stroked so tenderly only moments ago.

Morty screamed. Of course he did. The agony was ceaseless, made no better by the horrifying singe of flesh. Within moments the smell of burnt meat filled the garage, and Morty choked helplessly over his own flesh being incinerated. But Rick had planned this out, at least slightly, because a bony hand kept his struggles easily under control as the other causually carved into his shoulder, etching too many cuts past the muscle to be coincidental. 

"No, R-Riccckk p-p-please..." A particularly cruel thrust of the knife had Morty screaming his pleas, probably just like Rick wanted. "PLEASE GRANDPA RICK! I-I-I need it to stop! Please I understand-" 

But the sawing continued over his words, blood finally staining onto already bloodied palms. Morty could see it already anyway, what the cuts would undoubtedly be, and he couldn't help but curl brokenly into himself once more. 

"G-Grandpa-" And God help him, for the first time he saw this Rick as his own, despite the pain and bloodshed- the maniacal glint in his eyes all too familiar but somehow needed. But he couldn't, wouldn't break in. What would he be if he did? He needed to ask, yell; plead...

"Stop."

**Author's Note:**

> Soo what do you think? Kudos and comments are always appreciated, although I may be a bit inconsistent with replying :p Do you think i should continue this? It is a bit.. much. But let me know, and hope you all have a good day!


End file.
